


Correlation

by ullman



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-09
Updated: 2011-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-14 14:48:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ullman/pseuds/ullman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sean's not much of a morning person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Correlation

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to Pen for the beta!

Elvish. It doesn't occur to him the minute he wakes up, but once he manages to identify the voice he's hearing, it's a surprisingly small leap to that particular language. And it's not until Elvish somehow becomes English again, and he hears the name of their director that he knows where he is, and he has to stifle the groan that threatens. Because he doesn't need to think to know that falling into bed with one of his castmates isn't the brightest of ideas.

Plus, Viggo's rather animated. The sun's not even up yet -- and even wrapped in his self-pity, Sean still takes a moment to feel sorry for Peter as well -- and Viggo's on the phone, babbling away about elves and whatnot. Sean takes a deep breath before he dares to open one eye.

Viggo keeps rambling, and Sean considers doing a runner, despite not having the slightest of clues where he's left his clothes. Even walking out starkers sounds tempting for a split second, and he vaguely recalls stepping out of his trousers in his kitchen so that's something, but then Viggo looks up from the script he's been leafing through and their eyes meet, a broad smile spreading across Viggo's face when they do.

Sean closes his eyes. Not bright at all. "I'm not staying unless there's coffee," he grunts, covering his face with his arm to hide the smile that threatens.

"You're not much of a morning person, are you," Viggo observes with a soft chuckle before pushing himself up off the mattress and padding across the room wearing nowt but a smile.

Sean can't help but grin.

***

He clears his throat noisily when Viggo still hasn't acknowledged his presence a minute or so after Sean entered his studio, even though his paintbrush had been suspended in mid-air when Sean came in. He holds up the crumbled up piece of paper with 'call your ex-wife' scribbled on it, frowning. "Who am I supposed to phone then, eh?" he demands testily.

Viggo looks up. "It's nice that you're still on speaking terms with more than one of your ex-wives," he says, sounding pleased.

His frown deepens. "Wouldn't it have been nicer not to have more than one of 'em?"

"A rhetorical question, I'm sure," Viggo murmurs, smiling.

Sean sulks rather than answer the question, and reaches for the cup of what smells an awful lot like fresh coffee.

"Tell me -- do you think there's a direct correlation between the number of ex-wives and the breezy morning demeanour?"

"A rhetorical question, surely," Sean replies dryly.

Viggo grins then glances down at the brush he's still holding with such wonder that Sean finds himself tempted to explain its purpose to him. Instead he smiles, and takes another sip of what is indeed a fresh cup of coffee.

***

Sean reaches behind him, grabbing the pillow to cover both of his ears. "Christ, Viggo," he groans, still able to hear the sounds coming from downstairs all too clearly. Then, as if the drums weren't far more than enough, a voice suddenly joins in. Sean buries his face into the pillow and curses the man who neglected to write the law to forbid this particular form of torture. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself to fall asleep again.

The next time he wakes up it's to the scent of freshly brewed coffee, and when he opens his eyes he finds a mug of the steaming hot liquid on his nightstand. Sean hums happily as he reaches for it, then smiles and shakes his head when he recognizes the tune Viggo had been playing earlier. It's rather catchy, really.

***

Three cartons of milk -- three empty cartons of milk, at that. Sean shakes his head, closing the door of the fridge. "There are three empty cartons in the fridge, mate," he tells Viggo as he rubs his temples, absently thinking he should have stopped drinking far earlier the night before.

"Yes," Viggo nods without looking up from where he's scribbling in one of his many notebooks.

Sean sighs, and while he knows that the answer will probably aggravate his already considerable headache he still hears himself ask, "Why?"

Viggo glances up. "Because I need to buy milk -- I do believe it's a quite common way to remind oneself."

"Right," Sean mumbles. Common or not it's still a rather infantile reminder. "But why _three_?"

"Because I _really_ need to buy milk." Sean's face apparently shows bewilderment because Viggo gives him an indulgent smile and adds, "I'm taking the theory of the effectiveness of plural reminders for a spin."

Sean shakes his head, regretting the movement immediately when the throbbing in the front of his head increases tenfold. He groans.

Viggo gives him a shit-eating grin. "Which reminds me," he drawls, gesturing vaguely with his pen. "I made coffee."

***

It's late when Sean gets around to calling Viggo that night but while he's fully aware that this means it's early on Viggo's side of the world, he doesn't think twice, and dials the number. It's Viggo, after all.

And so the all but growled "What?" is something of a surprise.

He blinks. "Is this a bad time?"

"I'm not sure. Are you -- because if you actually knew what the time was, you -- " Viggo's voice trails off into a muttered curse in a language Sean's not quite fluent in.

"I do. I didn't think you'd mind," he points out.

"And why wouldn't I, when every sane person would probably object to -- "

"Exactly," Sean interrupts him, smiling now. "Any _sane_ person would, you daft bugger. You probably never have before. So, bad night?"

"Bad week."

Sean's brow furrows. "Why? What's happened since I left?"

Viggo sighs, then slowly, as if Sean's particularly dense, says, "You. Left."

And apparently Sean is because it takes him at least a couple more seconds before he says, "I -- oh, right."

"I'm not getting any work done."

Sean doubts he's quite ready to ponder the implications of that, and instead muses, "It does make me wonder how you ever got any work done before, well, _me_."

"Inspired," Viggo murmurs.

His frown returns. "What?"

"Before -- it wasn't inspired."

"It wasn't inspired before," Sean repeats, feeling his cheeks flush as the implications need very little pondering all of a sudden. And so he does need another minute before he clears his throat and hears himself joke, "Right then -- shouldn't I get some credit for that then?"

"I'll be sure to mention it when the next album comes out," Viggo deadpans.

That startles a laugh out of Sean. "Then again, being more of a silent muse does have a certain sort of charm, really," he tells Viggo.

"I figured you'd say that."

They both chuckle softly. And when Sean hears Viggo take a deep breath he closes his eyes, his fingers tightening around his phone as he breathes out. "God, I miss your coffee."


End file.
